


A friend in need is a pest.

by secret170193



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Curses, Gen, Moral Lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secret170193/pseuds/secret170193
Summary: When John Marston tried to pick a fight with an odd collector on the edge of camp he didn't think it would result in such an odd curse. Now, stuck as a raccoon, John has to see what a pest he's really been lately. And find out if he can ever change back.(warning for swearing and mild threats of violence)My partner asked for this story, so oops, now it exists... sorry!
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	A friend in need is a pest.

John had a scowl on his face the moment he woke up. He didn’t know why but he’d woken up in a foul mood and nothing anyone was going to do or say was going to shake him from it. Abigail immediately sensed the dark cloud hanging over his head and, with a warning glare, steered Jack quickly away from him. As much as she loved to berate John over his many mistakes and his attitude, apparently shielding the boy from their arguments was a little more important right now. They’d been at Clemens point for little over a week now and, while the campsite had settled, the gang itself hadn’t. Everyone was in an irritable mood and although most had calmed a bit, John had only gotten worse. Maybe it was the humidity on his new scar tissue, it wasn’t like he’d had it exposed to constant heat before. It didn’t really matter, John knew that he should probably avoid pretty much everyone for the day. 

The moment he was on his feet, however, he had an axe pushed into his hands by Miss Grimshaw.

“Finally, Mister Marston. Thought you’d never get up. We need more wood chopped for that fire.”

John stared blankly at the axe for a moment before frowning.

“What the fuck for? It’s hot at hell all the time anyway, we don’t need a fire.”

Miss Grimshaw scoffed like it was the stupidest thing she’d heard all week. It probably wasn’t.

“The fire keeps away predators and bugs, cooks our food and dries the ground. Now if you don’t mind, get to work!”

John turned away with a grumble, heading to the chopping block slowly, dropping the axe the moment Miss Grimshaw wasn’t looking. Charles did much better chopping wood than him, he didn’t know why she bothered asking him in the first place. A quiet chuckle brough him out of his thoughts.

“I saw that, John Marston. You shirking off again?”

John turned to glare at Sean, who was contentedly leaning up against one of the trees having a smoke. 

“You’re one to talk, have you even lifted a single finger since we got here?”

Sean raised his hands in mock surrender, tossing away the stub of his cigarette.

“Calm down there, I been doing plenty. Who shoved a pole up your arse anyway?”

John didn’t even bother to dignify Sean with a response. Though if he happened to kick a few twigs in the Irishman’s general direction as he left, that was pure coincidence.   
John managed to avoid Dutch for the best part, it seemed their noble leader was just as grouchy as John and his dear Miss Molly wasn’t helping. John snuck to the scout fire, intent on having his coffee out of sight of the rest of camp and hopefully avoid doing morning chores while he did. He was rather ticked off to find that he wasn’t alone though. A meek little smile looked up at him briefly before Kieran hurriedly went back to cleaning the saddle he was working on.

“Morning, Mister. Nice day, isn’t it?”

John downed half of his coffee, sneering as he looked at Kieran from the corner of his eye.

“What the hell would you know, O’Driscoll? You barely know what’s going on.”

Kieran hung his head a little, trying to avoid eye contact with the apparently short fused man.

“Right… Of course… sorry.”

John tossed the rest of his coffee in the scout fire, wet embers splashing onto the edge of the saddle, and strode to middle of camp, making a show of picking up one of the shotguns. At least on lookout duty he wouldn’t have to listen to everyone bothering him. He marched to the camp entrance and, with a curt nod, relieved Javier from duty.  
After an hour of being stood in the same spot, John began to get restless. The bugs seemed to have a taste for him and wouldn’t leave him be, not now that the sun was up. Huffing in frustration, John decided that a short stroll out to the main road and back would do him some good and wouldn’t technically be leaving his post. As he got closer to the main road he began to frown in confusion. He could hear a gramophone, but definitely not the sort of music that Dutch would listen to. 

Parked just outside the path to their camp was what looked to be an old wagon, trinkets and cages hanging off of it. The words “Madam Nazar” were painted on it’s side. It was utterly garish to John, how it even moved without spilling it’s contents he could only guess. Stood by it, dancing in fluid swaying motions, was a barefoot woman. Her hair was dark and her skin following close behind. He could tell from her clothing that she was a traveller, and probably wearing half the trinkets she sold or bought. John cleared his throat and walked over.

“Oi, you might not have realised but people live here. Turn that goddamn noise off.”

The woman turned slowly, barely ceasing her casual dancing. She fixed John with a stare that almost made him back down. But he was in a very bad mood already and common sense tended to leave those in a bad mood for better days.

“No, I don’t think I will. I am free to dance, and to listen, as I wish. Perhaps if you did the same, you’d be less inclined to snap at a stranger.”

John stepped closer, gripping his shotgun.

“And I’m free to shoot whoever and wherever, as I wish. So scram, you’re being a pest.”

At this the woman stopped dancing, a mad glint in her eyes. She reached into her dress pocket, pulling out what looked to be a small bundled cloth tied in string.

“I am being a pest? No, I think, sir, it is you who is being the pest.”

She pulled the string, the bundle opening flat on her palm to reveal a small pile of powder. She took a deep breath and blew on it, covering John in the dust. John raised his free hand to cover his face, feeling the rifle slip from his fingers onto the ground.

“What the…!?”

He tried to blink away the powder, coughing a little to clear his throat. When he finally opened his eyes again he could hardly believe his eyes. The woman was gigantic! John opened his mouth to scream more profanities but all that he could hear coming from him was a series of terrified sounding squeaks. The woman smirked down at him.

“Who is the pest now, hm? Perhaps a day of this will change your attitude.”

John couldn’t help himself and turned tail, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him away from the giant woman. After a few minutes he reached the water’s edge just south of camp. He panted in shaky breaths, leaning over the water to splash his face. His tiny hands couldn’t seem to cup it very well and it was then that he saw his reflection. He let out another squeak and so did the raccoon in his reflection. 

John sat up on his hind legs, touching himself in rapid pats. Hairy chest, much hairier than usual. His nose definitely wasn’t that shape normally. And… yes, that was definitely a tail. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. That powder must have been a hell of a strong drug, it had to be. He wasn’t really a raccoon; he was just higher than a kite. In which case he probably shouldn’t be alone and wandering around the waters edge. He decided to head carefully back towards camp and hope he didn’t look too much of a laughing stock. If he was lucky, he could sleep off the drug and spend the rest of the day avoiding the camp chores. 

John walked into camp, as best he could on his newly acquired four limbs, and headed straight for Abigail’s tent, hoping she’d notice something was off. He perked a little at seeing Jack playing just outside the tent and trotted towards him.

“Hey Jack.”

The little boy looked up at the little noise that came from the fluffy creature walking towards him. He smiled and reached out to pet the little raccoon, scratching behind it’s ears.

“Hey there little guy, you lost like Cain?”

John almost stumbled back at the shock that even Jack was treating him like he really was the size of a raccoon, but the gentle rubbing behind his ear quickly lulled him and he leaned into it. Suddenly a quick yell interrupted his relaxation.

“Jack, get away from it! You don’t know what it’s carrying!”

Jack was pulled away suddenly, Abigail looming into John’s vision with a broom.

“Shoo, get out of here!”

John yelped as the wood whacked him on the back, scrambling to rush away into the bushes, or at least away from Abigail. He waited until it seemed like she wasn’t going to chase him and began to nurse the bruise forming on his back. Abigail always did have a mean right swing.

Gradually, John began to accept that somehow, in some magically curse, he was a raccoon. But that didn’t mean he knew the first thing about being a raccoon. He couldn’t just run off and live in the woods, he’d be dead before sunset. His best hope was to stick around camp and hope he turned back… eventually. He decided that maybe strolling straight into the main camp was a bad idea, especially if Miss Grimshaw or Pearson were going to react the same way Abigail had. Instead he snuck his way towards the scout fire, hoping someone might have dropped some food on the ground there. He was starting to feel hungry already and he figured that if he was going to be stuck as a scavenging little thief, he might as well eat like one. He edged closer to the little fire, sniffing around, when a little voice made him freeze. Shit, Kieran was still here.

“You’re mighty brave, ain’t ya? You hungry? I know how that feels…”

John hesitated before he realised that Kieran wasn’t going to get angry or chase him off. He tilted his head a little at the former O’Driscoll, watching him fish around in his pockets.

“Here, I usually save it for Branwen but… I figure you probably need it more.”

He pulled a small carrot from his pocket and carefully held it out towards John before seeming to think better of it and placed it gently on the ground instead, leaning back so he wouldn’t be seen as a threat. John edged a little closer, feeling an odd sense of gratitude towards Kieran. He grabbed the carrot and hurried behind the tree to eat it out of sight. If Kieran had been less kind and meek then John knew he’d probably have never given a wild animal his food. He’d have to thank him later.

The afternoon crept on and, despite being chased away a few times, John had managed to stay more or less around camp. It was exhausting being chased constantly though and John found himself drinking from the rivers edge just behind Arthur’s tent. He could feel eyes on him and, cautious, he glanced around. Leant against the back of the wagon, facing him, was Arthur. The gruff man was chewing his lip and drawing in his journal, looking between John and the page, drawing. John could have rolled his eyes. Just his luck, he’d be captured in time between Arthur’s journal pages at his lowest point, figuratively and literally. He gave an annoyed squeak and raised his paw in what he hoped was a good attempt at a middle finger. Arthur blinked in surprise for a moment before letting out a loud bark of laughter, closing his journal.

“Alright, alright, I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

John gave an indignant huff, wondering if Arthur made a habit of speaking to the animals and plants he doodled in that book. He finished his drink and, avoiding Dutch’s tent completely, headed round towards the chopping block. Pearson was busy with the evening stew, so he wasn’t too worried about being caught near the axe. To his surprise, Charles was chopping wood. John knew the taller man was much better at it than him, but it had been John’s chore for the day. Which meant that not only had Charles done his own chores, he’d then started on Johns. John watched on with a little feeling of guilt. He really had been an ass that morning and watching Charles literally sweat for it just made him feel bad. He’d have to apologize once he turned back. If he turned back. Deep in troubled thought about whether his new state was a permanent thing, John didn’t notice Charles stop and sit down. 

“You seem a little lost. You might not want to stick around here, some of these folks don’t take too kindly to the wildlife.”

John peered up at Charles, remembering that the half-native was well versed with the ways of wild animals. No doubt he didn’t see John as a threat, it probably wasn’t too common for raccoons to hang around without actively trying to steal food either. Charles gave a rare little smile.

“Arthur won’t mind you, neither will Sean. But that John, he’s not the friendliest, you might want to steer clear of him.”

With an almost knowing look, Charles stood back up and began chopping wood again, leaving a slightly insulted but very baffled raccoon sat on the grass.

As evening began to set in, John was getting hungry again. That carrot had barely lasted and, although he didn’t doubt Kieran would share food again, he didn’t think the guy had anything else on him. So, braving the middle of camp, John tried for the stew pot. Big mistake. 

“Someone get that thing away from the food!”

Dutch’s commanding voice rang out through camp and suddenly all eyes were on John. Before he could even take a bite of the delicious smelling food, John could sense hands coming at him from all directions. In a mad bid for escape he leapt from the pot and scrambled up the nearest person, leaping over their shoulder.

“Oi, come back here ya little bastard!”

Thank goodness Sean had slippery fingers, John made it to the floor before darting between a pair of legs, skirt almost catching on his tail.

“Ah! Someone catch it!”

John gave a little wince. Sorry, Tilly, he swore he hadn’t looked up. He made a sudden dash for the path when a big, heavy hand fell on his back, roughly scruffing him.

“Got ‘im, Dutch!”

Bill. Of course. Slow when it was important but apparently pretty damn fast at catching panicked creatures. John squirmed but found himself caught tight, hanging off the ground precariously. Another voice seemed to edge closer.

“Want me to shoot the little pest?”

John gulped, eyes widening. Micah would shoot him, and revel in every second of it. The sick bastard would probably skin him just for kicks. Dutch’s voice rang out again behind him.

“No, no need to make a mess. Bill, just… take that damn thing out of camp and dispose of it. I don’t want it coming back.”

Bill gave a short nod and hurriedly walked into the woods. John chattered angrily the whole way, swearing that he’d bite Bill hard if he could spin himself around enough. To his surprise, Bill glanced behind himself to check he was far enough away from camp before carefully setting John down.

“Look just… scarper or something, okay? Just, don’t come back or I’ll get in real big trouble, don’t really wanna have to kill ya.”

Bill made a shooing motion with his hands and John, still a little stunned by it all, obediently ran off away from camp. Bill Williamson, big fucking softie. He’d tease him about it if it hadn’t just saved his skin. Literally. John broke through the bushes at the edge of the woods and collapsed to take a deep breath. He was exhausted. The sound of a gramophone seeped into his ears and a shadow blocked his view of the dimming dusk sky. 

“I see you are back. Have you learned your lesson?”

John could make out the silhouette of the strange woman from earlier, her trinkets and jewellery glinting in the setting sun. John opened his mouth to speak but could only nod wildly. She gave an amused hum, crouching to pet John softly. 

“You know what. I think I believe you.”

She pulled out another small wrapped parcel, blowing the light dust over John. Within a few seconds her hand rested on the hot forehead of a very tired, scarred man. John scrambled to his knees, touching his face with both hands and a look of pure relief. The woman smiled and stood, turning back to her wagon.

“Perhaps you will think more on how you behave, hm?”

John got up, his legs still a bit shaky from the adrenaline rush.

“Oh I will, don’t you worry about that…”

He backed away until he was sure the woman wasn’t going to do anything more to him, and practically ran back down the path towards camp. John paused halfway down the path, bending to pick up the rifle he had dropped. Only… he hadn’t dropped it here. He knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth though. 

Once he’d handed over the rifle to Hosea to take watch, John found himself at the stew pot. He was starving and downed two bowls before something made him look over at the scout fire. Kieran was still sat up there, watching the line of people taking food. John poured out a fresh bowl and headed up to the scout fire, holding it out for Kieran.

“Here, you don’t gotta wait up here all the time. Everyone eats.”

Kieran eyed the bowl with a wary awe, as though expecting it to be taken away at the last moment. He carefully reached out and took it.

“Thank you but… Shouldn’t everyone else eat first, I mean… I’m new and I know a lot of you guys don’t trust me or like me…”

John looked away with a little shrug.

“Well... I think you’re not too bad, so if anyone gets pissy at you having some food just send them my way.”

John turned and walked off before Kieran could respond or read into it. Next, he approached Charles, sitting next to him at the main camp fire.

“Hey.”

Charles gave a little nod of acknowledgement, calm and quiet as always. John sat in awkward silence for a few minutes before plucking up the courage to talk properly.

“So um… Sorry I kind of let my chores slip today. I know you picked up the slack for me.”

Charles didn’t turn his head but looked at John from the corner of his eye.

“You do? Abigail tell you?”

John shrugged, well aware that nobody would believe the truth.

“Yeah, something like that. I’ll make it up to you.”

Charles gave a slight half smile, looking amused, possibly skeptical.

“Is that so? Well, thank you.”

John settled back into silence, much less awkward this time. Finally, he ended up by Arthur’s tent. He leaned over Arthur’s shoulder as the other man wrote his most recent journal entry.

“What you doing there?”

Arthur jumped a little and snapped the book shut.

“Shit, Marston, you trying to give me a heart attack?”

John smirked and leant on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Nah, just curious. What was that I saw drawn in there, a fox?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, opening the journal to the page he’d been on, a mildly disgruntled raccoon staring back at them.

“That raccoon that stirred up trouble earlier, caught him drinking so I figured I’d draw it.”

Arthur held the journal up a little by John’s face with a little chuckle.

“Hey, kinda looks like you, all scruffy and dirty.”

John put on a look of offense, wondering deep down how shocked Arthur would be if he knew the truth.

“You’re a nasty, nasty man, Arthur Morgan, I look nothing like that ugly little pest.”

Arthur chuckled and brought the journal down to look at it again.

“Aw, it ain’t a pest. It’s just… resourceful.”


End file.
